Noel turned to him, smiling persuasively.  “Can’t you take your breakfast into the garden, old chap?  I want to thresh this matter out at once.  I’m sure you have your niece’s permission to retire.”

But at that, Olga rose from the table.  “Suppose we go into the garden, Mr. Wyndham,” she said.

Noel sprang up with a jingle of spurs.  “By all means!”

“Get a hat, Olga!” said Nick.

She threw him a fleeting smile and departed.

Noel propped himself against the window-frame and waited.  He did not appear greatly disconcerted by the turn of events.  Without an effort he conversed with Nick on the chances of the forthcoming polo-match.

When Olga came along the verandah a minute later he stepped out and joined her with a smile.

They passed side by side down the winding path that led to the cypress walk.  Olga’s face was pale.  She looked very full of resolution.

“I am quite sure you know what I am going to say,” she said very quietly at length.

“You haven’t wished me a happy Christmas yet,” remarked Noel, still smiling his audacious smile.  “Can it be that?”

Olga’s face remained grave.  “No,” she said.  “I don’t feel friendly enough for that.”

“I say, what have I done?” said Noel.

She stopped and faced him, and he suddenly saw that she was very nervous.  She held out to him a little packet wrapped in tissue-paper.

“Mr. Wyndham,” she said, speaking rapidly to cover her agitation, “you couldn’t seriously expect me to accept this, whatever your motive for sending it.  Please take it back, and let me forget all about it as quickly as possible!”

Noel’s hand clasped hers instantly, packet and all.  “My dear girl,” he said softly, “don’t be upset,—­but you’re making a mistake.”

She looked up, meeting the Irish eyes with a tremor of reluctance.  In spite of herself, she spoke almost with entreaty.  For there was something about him that stirred her very deeply.  “Please don’t make things hard!” she said.  “You know you have no right.  I never gave you the smallest reason to imagine I would take such a gift from you.”

Noel was still smiling; but there was nothing impudent about his smile.  Rather he looked as if he wished to reassure her.  “How did you know where it came from?” he said.

The colour she had been so studiously restraining rushed in a wave over her face.  “Of course—­of course I knew!  Besides, there was a line with it.”

“May I see the line?” said Noel.

She stared at him, her agitation increasing.  What right had he to be so cool and unabashed?

“I tore it up,” she said.

“What for?” said Noel.

Her eyes gleamed momentarily.  “I was angry.”

“Angry with me?” he questioned.

“Yes.”

“Does it make you angry to know that a man cares for you?” he said.

Her eyes fell before the sudden fire that kindled in his with the words.  “Don’t!” she said rather breathlessly.  “Please don’t!”